"I'll give you my gold and platinum cards for another button."

Points to those of you that get the reference.

I'm scheduled for an interview for Friday afternoon in a neighboring state. Good money, solid schedule, good people (I already know and have studied with more than 50% of the department). It isn't my 'dream job' (not a robot in sight) but the manager is a good man and this will be a good place for me to spend a year or two, setting aside some savings, collecting some valuables, and enjoying myself.

My biggest wish/hope/fear is that, living on my own with money to burn and a very kind schedule, I'm likely to turn into Rayne (warning: this link probably NSFW, also NSFH and NSFC, if you happen to surf the 'net in front of your family, or during boring parts of the sermon). Which, while it would be fun, might seriously depress all of my friends. Well, the female ones might enjoy themselve, and maybe the male ones could vicariously savour the more memorable moments as well, but I think in the long run they would think less of me for it all.

I'm not sure if the best solution to this is to start cultivating different friends (adopted family, are, of course, excluded from this entire musing) or if I should just make an effort to slowly pervert my friends until they find my behaviour less evil and start engaging in similar acts themselves.

Maybe it would be smart of me to follow up this ramble later this week with a more organized dissertation on why I call myself a womanizer, and also why I don't feel guilty about it.

If I get around to it, you, dear readers, will be the first to know.

Tuesday, January 31, 2006

The Disney Ride that Coincides

So I've gotten into a new hobby recently, and discovered that in my local area, there are only two other people practicing it. I ran across one of them on a forum and dropped him an e-mail yesterday.

Today I got an e-mail back. "Hey, I know you. You used to date [EKG]" He then went on to talk about the hobby a bit, and comment on how small a world it is.

Indeed, it seems my world has become very small indeed. There 200,000 people in that city, what are the odds that one of TWO practicioners of this particular discipline would know me through her?!

I'll tell you, if we adjust for age range of this hobby (1 in 7) and physical propensity/ability (1 in 3), and you get perhaps 10,000 viable candidates. I met maybe 30 people max (of all ages) through her when we were dating, so that's the odds that 1 of 30 in 200,000 is ALSO 1 of 2 in 10,000.

Or, (2/10,000)*(30/10,000)

or (6/200000000)

Or, to put it in C-3P0's format, "the odds are thirty three million, three hundred thirty three thousand, three hundred and thirty three point three repeating -- TO ONE."

That's just creepy. I really need to move. . .

Saturday, January 21, 2006

Death Cab for Cutie quiets the demons in my head.

Sorting through some mail earlier, I found this quote, from a guy aliased MoonKnife, from a forum I used to participate in, once upon a time.

"You seem to be thinking with a clock, sometimes it just takes a calendar."

I watched Cruel Intentions today and I loved it. I was going to talk about it a bit, but I decided that would be mostly lame emo horseshit, so I deleted it just now.

I'm going to start posting my essay on my family's recent discovery of fire soon. It's mostly written, but I'm going to break it into three or four parts to make it easier to read (it tends to. . . carry on).

Expect the first part sometime this coming week, or tomorrow, depending on how I feel.

But Johnny Cash wakes them up.

Thursday, January 19, 2006

being on my best behaviour is boring.

I didn't seduce anybody.

And only about six people flirted with me (at the usual 2:1 F:M ratio). Qoth the Browncoat: "I must be losing my indefinable allure."

In other news. . . a networking contact of mine from my Uni days is working on scheduling an interview with his supervisor for me and I've filed applications with some other research labs as well. So there is a chance I might be squared away in new digs and a new place of employment soon. Double Rawk.

And in even more unrelated news, I am thinking of becoming a traceur, and if I do, I'll be taking Tim down that dark but addictive path with me.

Tonight I'm going to watch Banlieue 13 and think about it. Careful, it's Boy's-night-in for dad and I (mom's out doing something with photographs and glue) and there will probably be drinking.

Saturday, January 14, 2006

this wedding will not suck.

And here are four reasons why:

1) Goth Girl in a Bridesmaid's dress.
2) Jailbait also in a bridesmaid's dress.
3) Lots of pretty dolled-up twentysomethings who are panicky because they're attending a wedding and it isn't their own.
4) Me, in black to the nines, sport suit, long coat, and subtle chain trimming.

Oh yes, it's going to be an interesting evening.

Oh, and by the way: it turns out that recipe from my last post is also a "recipe for letting the fucking dining room table catch fire while no-one is tending to the spanish-moss-and-short-candles centerpiece."


Friday, January 13, 2006

Recipe for a laid back family evening


- 4 parts Citrus flavoured Vodka.
- 2 parts Triple Sec or Cointreau.
- 1 part Lime Juice.
- 2 parts Cranberry Juice.

1. Mix thoroughly in pitcher-size batches (8 oz = 1 part).

2. Warn everyone you're making "Cosmopolitans", but since they sound so chick-drink-ish, expect everyone to have at least two.

3. Shake each over ice for appropriate temperature.

4. Realize after pouring the first of your own that one of these will knock a grown man back to last Wednesday.

5. Pour multiples for everyone.

6. Enjoy a laid back family evening.

Wednesday, January 11, 2006

An addition and a correction.

So I realized that something that is already obscure can't "fade into obscurity". It is already there.

And just now, I sat down and wrote this. Consider it a little bit of poetry for the first of the year:

Just this once you thought I was gone,
and for a moment I was a memory.

you were better off back then,
though you'd never know it now
I can still remember when
our only worries were when and how.

I never asked for a lesson in rythm
that came free with the final schism
and every rift is a little more hope
and every favour is a little more rope.

Soon I'll have enough for the final stunt
gasping at the end of a long string of wins
one more success never hurt the runt
who edges one step closer to a litany of sins

Now there's nothing but the steady tick-tock
of that last hated relic of a grandfather clock
that we never loved and we swore we wouldn't keep
but it stands in the hall and tells us not to sleep

Because you really can't change the future
but you know the past is on its way
and you can't see the devil suture
but the stitches are here to stay.

Seventeen sins in a simple cup of paper
three small boys with their minds set on a caper
never thought we'd see the day
when these regrets would show us the way.

You like it? I think I'm going to title it "Fuck off, I'm being emo."

Monday, January 02, 2006

In case you haven't noticed. . .

I think that blogging might be losing some of its appeal for me.

Frankly, I think I've plateaued and I don't really want to work hard enough at it again to see more improvement. I'd rather see improvement elsewhere. Like in the field of gainful freakin' employment.

So if this blog fades into obscurity within a few months, you'll know why.

Random side note: the blogger spellcheck catches "blogging" and suggests "flogging" as a replacement. . . and I think it might be right.

Sunday, January 01, 2006